Cannonball Breaking Point
by writerdot
Summary: "What's your breaking point?" -Continuation of blackmare 9's post "Out of the Chute" fic "Cannonball."


A/N: Continuation of **blackmare_9** 's lovely "Out of the Chute" episode tag "Cannonball" It turned out a little longer then I thought it would. House and Wilson didn't want to shut up. Thanks to blackmare_9 for letting me play. :-) The first line here is the last line of her fic.

Cannonball (Breaking Point)

_And the ringing stops._

He sighs tiredly and leans his head back against the couch, ready to close his eyes and for this day to be over when he realizes that someone, and he has a fair idea who, is knocking on the door.

He stands up, sweeping past Sarah, who has curled up at his feet, half-empty glass of scotch hanging from his hand as he goes to the door and opens it. He doesn't bother with a greeting before turning around and walking back to his couch.

House walks in behind him slowly, but Wilson doesn't look back. He just sits down, slouches against the cushions and sips his scotch.

House just stands there for a second, before he says, "I didn't see you until after I jumped."

"Is that right?"

"I only saw the crowd, Wilson."

"Hmm. So, you weren't trying to scare the shit out of me for the fun of it?"

"It had nothing to do with you."

Wilson sighs and sets his now empty glass down before turning slowly to look at House. "I've been doing everything I can to impede your spiral, House, and you do this? Jump off a damn balcony-" he stops, and rubs the back of his neck. "What would you have done if you had seen me before the fact? Would you have jumped?"

House doesn't respond and there's Wilson's answer.

"I don't even-"

"What?" House snaps, "Don't even know why you bother? I've been wondering that, too, actually."

Wilson looks at him as though he's physically assaulted him. "I care about you, you selfish bastard! For God's sake, House….do you really want me to leave you alone? Because I can think of one or two tries in the last twenty years that I've attempted to do just that and you haven't _let _me! So, tell me, what do you want? Because I'm not sure that I have the energy to try and figure it out, first."

House's jaw clenches and Wilson notices, vaguely, that House hair is still damp, but he's changed clothes and he reflects on that while he waits for House to respond, to give him _something. _House finally looks at him and says, slowly, "I want to beat you to the punch."

Wilson frowns and looks at him, then at the wall, then at House again as he tries to decipher that. It takes him a few moments, because the scotch and the last few days have been exhausting, but when it finally does occur to him… "You want to….are you saying you're trying to get me to leave you alone before I finally just give up and leave on my own?"

He's not sure how much that made sense as it leaves his mouth, but House seems to understand, anyway. "Basically, yeah. You kicked me out of the loft when you met Sam, I get together with Cuddy and she leaves because I screw up-"

"House," Wilson sighs and swipes his hand across his forehead. "The loft thing….that was stupid. My desperate and ridiculous attempt to move on with my life and maybe give you a push to go after Cuddy, and you saw how well my relationship with Sam worked out…" _and you're relationship with Cuddy,_ but he keeps that thought to himself. "…but I'm not going anywhere. I told you once that I'd help you through it if you got addicted to Vicodin again. That's all I've been trying to do these last couple of days."

House is quiet again and Wilson can practically see the gears turning in his head as he absorbs Wilson's words. Wilson, needing something to do while House thinks, grabs Sarah and decides that maybe he's just stable enough to give her the injection after all.

It only takes a minute or two before he's in front of House, once more, arms crossed over his chest and House finally speaks. "I'm wondering…"

"What, House?"

"What's your breaking point?"

Wilson isn't sure he's heard House correctly. "What?"

House waves a hand at him. "What's the last straw, the final…thing that makes you give up and never look back?"

Wilson shakes his head slowly. "What makes you think I have one?"

"Everybody has a deal-breaker, Wilson. I thought Amber's death was yours, you came back, you asked me to leave the loft, and then you still hung around me. Hell, there are a million other things that have happened over the course of our friendship that could have made you leave…and yet…"

Wilson can't help the sad grin that lifts the corners of his lips up, can't help but look at House. "…I keep coming back."

"Why?"

"I told you, I care about you. You're my friend."

"That's not an answer."

"In House-land where everything is just how you want it? No, I suppose it isn't. You have a problem with taking things at face-value."

"Because most people are _liars_. Including you."

Wilson shrugs. "Never claimed to be perfect. One of my biggest flaws is that I can't seem to stay away from you."

"Evidently," House says quietly. "I wasn't even going to come here…I saw you turn around and leave at the hotel and thought 'this is it' but I had to know…so you're basically telling me that I'll never be able to get rid of you?"

"Did we not just go over this?"

"I just-"

"House," Wilson interrupts, holding up a hand and realizing that he's more tired now then he's been in a long time. "For once in your life, stop over-analyzing and dissecting everything…you know where the blankets are if you want to crash on the couch," Wilson holds up a hand as he sees House's mouth open to retort something he knows is either going to be scathing or sarcastic-and with House, there's a difference. "Or go home and call me in the morning. Your choice, but I think we could both use some sleep."

House just watches him for a second, and Wilson slowly turns around, brings his empty glass to the sink and shuffles to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

A minute later, Wilson pauses as he's undoing the last button on his dress shirt when he hears the hall closet open, a tell-tale rustling and the small click of the door closing.

He smiles tiredly and resumes getting ready for bed.


End file.
